


where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases

by remembermyfic



Series: 2019 Snail Mail Advent Calendars [9]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remembermyfic/pseuds/remembermyfic
Summary: “I don't wanna argue, I wanna love him but he's wrong! He's wrong!”Jack pulls up short at the two girls standing in the middle of the Boston snow. It’s fucking cold, even Jack’s fucking cold, but neither girl seems fazed.“I’m not arguing, Trav. But you’re drunk and we need to go home.”“No, I'm not leaving. I'm staying here till he realizes why he's wrong. I don't care. I don't. He either realizes it or he doesn't. I don't care.”
Relationships: Jack Eichel/Connor McDavid
Series: 2019 Snail Mail Advent Calendars [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564486
Comments: 12
Kudos: 128





	where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases

**Author's Note:**

> If you know or are related to or could even quite possibly get weirded out by this, please click away. This is your final warning. It is now your choice. Godspeed. 
> 
> Title from "Friends in Low Places", Garth Brooks, who has the lowest range I've heard in a while, damn you, sir.

“I don't wanna argue, I wanna love him but he's wrong! He's wrong!”

Jack pulls up short at the two girls standing in the middle of the Boston snow. It’s fucking cold, even Jack’s fucking cold, but neither girl seems fazed.

“I’m not arguing.”

Jack thinks he recognizes that voice, the calmness and steadiness. That sandy hair looks familiar too, a little bushy.

“I promise I’m not arguing, Trav. But you’re drunk and we need to go home.”

“No, I'm not leaving. I'm staying here till he realizes why he's wrong. I don't care. I don't. He either realizes it or he doesn't. I don't care.”

Trav. Jack squints until it comes to him. Travis Konecny plays on the women’s team, the same age as Jack himself. She and Crouse are inseparable if he remembers right, which absolutely does not explain why the hell Travis is upset.

“He’s wrong!”

“I understand that,” Jack hears as he rounds the corner and finds Travis Konecny - he mentally fist pumps - and Connor McDavid. His nose wrinkles despite himself. Why the hell did it have to be her of all people? Jack could have handled fucking Strome better than McDavid.

He also hates that the little voice in his head - that sound suspiciously like Noah and he is very not digging into that - knows he doesn’t know McDavid. But he does know that when she wins a game, there are plenty more people who say congratulations to her than he hears after his. It’s the story he’s sticking to and Noah-in-his-head can just shut up about the whole thing.

“We’re outside in the middle of winter, TK. You’re drunk, in the middle of winter and it’s fucking cold. It doesn’t matter how mad you are at Law, we need to go inside.”

“I won’t let him win.”

Jack is not a hero. He is the anti-hero, too sarcastic and angry, and rarely the one people want in times of distress anyway. Yet he finds himself huffing, and stepping up.

“All good, McDavid?”

Fuck. She looks at him like she’s grateful he’s there, like somehow he can magically talk more sense into Travis than he can.

“Fuck off, Eichel. Your entire goddamn gender can fuck off.”

Jack doesn’t laugh, but it’s a close thing. “Wish I could, but for once in her life, McDavid’s right.”

“I don’t care. I’m not moving until all of you fucking men buy a clue.”

“You’ll be here literally forever, TK, please stop.”

“Make him stop.”

“I’m not above dragging you.”

“You would not. You could not. I’m a little ball of hate and you don’t bench that much.”

McDavid looks to him. “No. But he does.”

Emotions war in him. His chest puffs up out of reflex because yeah, he’s strong, and there’s no way a tiny human like Travis Konecny is going to be all that hard to carry when he benches over three hundred pounds. It comes with a strange awareness, however, because how the hell does Connor McDavid know that Jack benches the heavy weights?

“I bite.”

Jack has quite literally never turned down a challenge in his life. “Try me.”

Which is how he ends up with an extremely cranky Konecny in a fireman’s carry over his shoulders, heading back towards the dorms. He drops her in the front hall and ignores the way she spits at him. She’s too drunk to be coordinated and he slips away easily.

“What was that about not being able to handle you?”

TK glares. “Connor could skate circles around you and everyone knows it.”

“Travis.”

McDavid’s warning comes way too late and from the resigned look on her face, she knows it. He doesn’t mind that his reputation of taking challenges precedes him, especially not like this.

“You and me,” he says, like he’s wanted to a million times. “On the ice.”

She’s quiet for a moment, watching him, sizing him up. “You can’t be mad when I beat you.”

Shit. This is going to be so good and so worth it. The thrill zips through his blood. “I can appreciate the confidence, but don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

The endearment hits home. She bristles beautifully and he feels his heartrate pick up.

“You’re on,” she says, pulling out here phone. “I’ll book the ice.”

He hands the phone back once he’s typed in his number and texted himself. “See you at the rink.” He looks to Travis. “For fuck’s sake, just have an adult conversation instead of drunk vomiting your feelings on your captain in the middle of fucking winter.”

“Fuck you.”

Jack grins as he heads back into the frigid Boston air. It’s only when he’s sprawled on his bed that he pulls out his phone. The unread message he’d sent himself reads,  _ you’re the best player. _

Smirking, he sends back,  _ you know it, baby _ .

She leaves him on read.

“You got a secret girlfriend, Eichs?”

Jack looks up from his latest argument with McDavid. Honestly, Leafs versus Bruins should be an argument that is dead on arrival. Jack has literally never met a human being that had such a ridiculous counterargument to the concept of changing the name of the Selke award to the Bergeron.

“Jealous, Hanny?”

“Gotta know how to frame the Care and Keeping of Jack Eichel speech. Is it a warning or an information session?”

“Fuck off,” Jack replies, cheerfully. “One, I am a delight.”

Noah rolls his eyes.

“Two, McDavid has the worst hockey opinions ever. And I mean ever.”

“Can you just hate fuck and get it over with?”

“What?”

Noah doesn’t even flinch. He eyes Jack, steady as ever. “I honestly have no idea why you hate her. Or why you care if everyone thinks she’s better than you,” he responds. “And you really want to tell me you wouldn’t bang her?”

Jack doesn’t bother to answer. Noah knows better. So what if she’s objectively attractive? Being pretty isn’t the only thing he looks for in a partner. “I’m not sleeping with McDavid.”

“Let me see your phone.”

Jack is very not sure what Noah is looking for as he scrolls through the message thread. He is, however, looking smug and all-knowing when he throws the phone back.

“Arguing is foreplay.”

“Hockey is my foreplay,” Jack argues.

“Dude.”

Jack abhors how reproachful Noah sounds. “What?”

“Just hate fuck. For the good of hockey.”

“Shut up, Hanifin.”

It’s in Jack’s head. That’s half the problem when he makes it to the arena and McDavid’s already on the ice. He’d bet his captaincy that’s probably always the way, before every practice and before every game. He’ll take the time to watch her – admire her even, and fuck Noah Hanifin for putting that idea in his head.

She’s graceful on skates, quick where Jack prefers powerful. It doesn’t make her less dynamic. It takes her four little cut steps to get to full speed, and that full speed is impressive to say the least. He’ll admit, in his head and never out loud, that it must make her hell to play against. He’s looking forward to the challenge.

It takes her a few minutes to even realize he’s watching and she snows him when she pulls up to the bench. He laughs because he knows he would have done the same and the thrill of seeing her play, of being able to play against him, is making him giddy.

“Forfeiting already?” she asks, barely winded. “Let me know if you need help picking your jaw up off the floor.”

“Just sizing up the competition,” he replies smoothly.

She’s managed to procure a bucket of pucks and she picks one out as he vaults over the boards. Her hands are as quick as her feet, faster than Jack’s ever seen.

“Cute,” he says.

She’s cocky when she glances at him through her lashes and her visor. Jack shouldn’t be into it, but it’s definitely a look. “Think you can take it?”

And it’s on.

He bides his time, patient and watching for gaps and weaknesses in her hands. She doesn’t have much, and he takes to flicking his stick out to disrupt her pattern. It helps him get a feel for how she protects the puck and she does manage to keep it out of Jack’s possession. Right up until he puts his body into it. That’s when it becomes obvious that while others compare them, they play distinctly different games. They’re almost dead even and his blood thumps heavily in his veins.

Noah hadn’t been wrong when he’d said hockey is foreplay for Jack.

Apparently, he also wasn’t wrong about wanting to fuck McDavid, though the ‘hate’ part is shockingly less present than he’d wanted.

It hits him more completely as she’s racing down the rink and he knows there’s absolutely no way he’s going to catch her. It thunders through her blood, right up until she loses an edge and tumbles to the ice. He’s so shocked that it takes him too long to respond, and he ends up tripping over her. He follows her down, swearing along the way and hoping to avoid any sharp blades.

McDavid snaps off her helmet. “Shit. You okay?”

“I can take a fall,” Jack replies with a roll of his eyes. “I do also play hockey.”

Still, he snaps his helmet off too, trying to catch his breath as she drops back to the ice. Her braid’s an absolute mess and her face is flushed and Jack still finds himself shifting over her, leaning in.

It’s never been about her, he realized somewhere between her accurate stick lifting, and the irritated cry of her losing the puck. The legend is human, sweaty and less than perfect, and kissing him back.

“What was that for,” she asks when they break away.

Jack’s breathing heavily and he shrugs. “Because I wanted to.”

“I’m sweaty and gross,” she says, and even wrinkles her nose.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “but your hockey is hot.”

“So you kissed me?”

“Your hockey is hot,” he repeats, “and it’s all I know about you.”

She swallows and he watches her throat bob. “Is it all you want to know?”

“Got some surprises up your sleeve, McDavid?”

She’s quiet for almost too long. “Take me to dinner and find out.”

Jack really needs to be better about rising to challenges. He’s going to get chirped about this for the rest of his life. “You’re on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title for this fic was "TK the drunk matchmaker".


End file.
